


So, You've Decided to Glamour a Human Girl.

by selunchen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: And a lot softer too, Because Cardan doesn't deserve to be dragged into this mess, But the smut is very consensual, F/M, Faelo, Faerie Ben, Faerie Kylo, Homeless orphan Rey, Human Rey, Kylo's dumb human heart, Leaves are not a valid form of currency, Non-consensual glamouring, Reylo but in the Folk of the Air universe, The High King is Snoke, This story is a lot sadder than the titel makes it seem, it's actually not very funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 04:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selunchen/pseuds/selunchen
Summary: Reylo, but Kylo is a faerie and Rey is a human.Also they both carry knives.But you know those are not the pointy things they end up using.* wink wink *Also this story is way sadder and serious than I'm making it out to be.





	So, You've Decided to Glamour a Human Girl.

**Author's Note:**

> For a brief moment Ben uses magic to make Rey answer questions and take him somewhere. That's not very nice of him. So if that's not your game, then like, then maybe don't read. 
> 
> Thank you slipgoingunder for alpha-reading, and K8 for her wonderful beta-work, and Destinies for answering all my dumb faerie questions.

The human world smells. Bitter. Acidic. 

Like morning after a particularly rambunctious night in the courts. Of vomit, of stale ale, of rotting food.

Kylo Ren has never been fond of going to the human world. Never been fond of the sights, the smells, its inhabitants, the lack of magic, how everything is pale and bland -

\- and how it reminds him of his own unfavorable origins. 

Yet, here he is. Once more. In the dark alleys of some Midwestern town, watching the rats run to hide among the trash. Waiting. 

Waiting for someone.

He touches the knife on his belt, checking once more that everything is where it is supposed to be. Confirms that he is ready. Because he is. He has never failed the King of Faerie. Not even once. And he won’t fail now. He knows he won’t. He touches the knife again.

Only to see the flashing steel of a small pocket knife.

“Give me your money,” a young female announces from within the shadows, muffled by a scarf covering her mouth.

Kylo blinks. Surprised he didn’t see her, didn’t hear her, even with all his wonderful gifts of detection that he inherited from his faerie mother. Not his father. 

As the girl inches slightly closer, the steel shakes, just a bit. 

She’s nervous. 

“Give. Me. Your. Money,” she repeats, her voice never revealing what her body is blatantly betraying. 

Bold of a human to try and mug a red cap faerie.

It amuses him.

“No,” he says, crossing his arms, and looking back out to the street. 

“What?” 

“I don’t have any money.”

“You’re lying.” The pocket knife inches ever so slightly closer to him, her hand grasping it firmly.

With a sigh, and with a little mirth, Ben digs into his pockets, pulling out the leaves he always saves for occasions like this. Moments where he is forced to abide by this world’s rules, to engage in their customs.

When they need money.

And a wicked idea comes to him. 

He presents the leaves, glamoured to resemble whatever currency she is looking for, and she roughly grabs them. Kylo almost smiles, always enjoying seeing how such simple creatures are so easily tricked into not seeing what is right in front of them. So readily fooled by easy magic. Like they want to be. 

So with a cruel mind, he watches her inspect the frail leaves, only to look back up at him, her brown eyes confused and...angry.

“Is this a joke to you?”

By the High King, he gave her all the leaves he had, what more does she want? “No.”

“So giving me leaves is not a joke?”

_ What? _

“Leaves?” He asks.

“Are you kidding me!” She yells, throwing the leaves at his chest, snarling, “You piece of trash. I should’ve known, with how ridiculously dressed you are!” 

Yet, Kylo is undeterred, narrowing his eyes at her, trying to determine if she carries any magic in her blood. But it is clear as day, how  _ human _ she is. Then why could she see through the glamour?

He steps closer. 

“Hey!” she warns, jabbing the knife once more to  _ remind _ him that she is armed - that she thinks she is  _ dangerous _ .

_ Pathetic thing.  _

“Back away! Yo-you cosplayer!”

Cosplayer? He wants to chuckle. Recognizing that she is certainly a more observant type amongst her kind. Most simply ignore his faerie looks, the outfits, his horns. Yet, she sees them and draws her own conclusions. That he is a - cosplayer? Whatever that is.

And then he sees it, just barely visible below the collar of her black t-shirt.

Dried rowan berries.

To protect against glamour.

Then he feels the tip of the knife cut into his  coat , and he finally turns to look at her face. The scarf has dropped in her agitation and now reveals her true face. Her plump lips, her sharp jaw, a pointy nose and -

Beautiful,  _ scared _ brown eyes. 

And several thoughts enter his mind. 

She is carrying protection against faerie magic. That is clear. And it explains why she sees his true nature, why she saw through the glamour of the leaves. Yet, she appears either oblivious to what he is, of his kind, or she is a skilled  _ liar _ . And if it is the latter, Kylo wonders, _ does that mean she has been sent to assassinate him? To stop him from fulfilling his mission? _

There is only one way to find out.

Kylo is different from most Faerie. But while he hates his human legacy, his father’s origins, and how it has diluted the purity of his faerie genetics, it gives him one advantage. 

Brute human strength, a body that is large and strong.

He grasps the hand clutching the knife hard, and forcefully pulls it away from his body. The girl yelps in half-pain, half-surprise, taken aback by his sudden violence, and struggles against his hold, while he pushes the knife behind her back -

And his other hand pulls the necklace free.

“What is this?” he asks patiently, staring straight into her shimmering eyes. “Who gave you this?”

“I’m not telling you anything!” she shouts, pulling at his grip, to no avail.

“Yes, you are,” he half whispers, stepping even closer to her form. A small smile curls the corner of his lips. “You know I can take whatever I want.” His finger yanks at the crudely made protection.

She spits at him and in a low, deep voice hisses, “No.”

_ Very well. _

With a growl, his finger yanks at the necklace and snaps the chain. Rowan berries spill at their feet, disappearing into the puddles of rain on the concrete. 

And it changes everything.

_ “Who gave you this?” _ He asks again, the  _ glamour _ thick in his voice.

Her eyes glaze over and her body stiffens at the command, only for it to then loosen in his hold. A pleasant smile comes over her lips.

And then she says a name Kylo has not heard in many years.

“Han Solo.”

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


Maybe it is the half-human in him, but Kylo has never truly enjoyed toying with humans the way some of the other faeries seem to. Glamouring them into doing ridiculous things, to eat the grass at their feet, to commit cruel acts, or sometimes even worse. He knows at least that his heritage is the very reason why he has never tricked any of them into servitude at his mansion. 

He hates seeing that dull smile on their faces anyway.

So, he only resorts to using glamour when absolutely necessary. For intelligence, for protection, for the safety of faerie. His powers are immense, he has talent, the High King keeps saying, and that’s why he needs to be careful. To only use it when there is no other option.

And humans can lie. They lie all the time.

If he wants the truth, he must take it.

Yet, the dull smile on the girl’s face as she walks them to her headquarters in the dead of night unnerves him. Regardless of the purpose of the glamour, the effects never cease to unnerve him.

But more than that, he is deeply uncomfortable at hearing his father’s name be spoken out loud. He needs answers. So he asks her several times as he forces her to walk through the drizzle, bathed in the yellow light of the street lamps. And while she gives perfectly acceptable answers, he finds that it only prompts more questions. 

I met Han Solo when I did odd jobs at his workshop.  _ What workshop? Why did you work there? _

I haven’t seen him in 5 years.  _ But where is he now? Have you seen him? I need to find him. _

He gave me the necklace for protection.  _ Why would he do that? Does he remember Faerie? Does he remember me, my mother? _

He left me a phone number, I have it at home.  _ Take me there. Show me. All of it. Let me find him. _

And then she stops at a chainlink fence, looking him over twice before saying, “Be careful about your cape.” She nods towards the garment of interest before crawling up and over the barbed wire.

Kylo finds her movements to be elegant, almost faerie-like in the way she with gracefully avoids the steel barbs, in the way she falls onto her feet. 

_ Perhaps she  _ does _ have some magic in her? _ he thinks as he follows her. Not a lot, perhaps just a smidge, enough to even out the clumsiness of her people. It would explain her beauty too, the transcendence of it. 

She smiles at him as they walk through the alleys of the buildings, and he knows that it’s fake, forced by his spell, but he studies the curve of her mouth regardless, trying to see if he can recognize any traits usually found in the creatures of his home, of the wonderful and enchanting.

They stop at a fire escape and that’s when he notices the state of the place. Brick walls crumbling, steel rusting, and glass broken. Buildings abandoned, left to crumble, to the whim of the elements. He frowns.

With strength and equal elegance, she jumps and grabs the slippery ledge of the ladder, pulling herself up as if she had done this all her life. And he follows her, patiently, like a predator who knows that his prize, his salvation, waits for him if he just allows things to unfold before him. Let her take him to the people she works for. The ones who possibly sent her to him, to kill him. 

Maybe even Han Solo.

“Tadaa!” she announces as she twirls around a damp, empty room. 

And at the sight before him, Kylo’s stomach churns. There’s a breeze gently blowing the dust across the floor, coming from a few broken windows shoddily covered with plastic bags. A lumpy mattress sits on the floor with a small oil lamp next to it, and what looks like a heavily insect-infested couch resting in a corner.

This isn’t the headquarters of a scheming organization intent on killing the High King of Faerie.

This is the home of a young displaced girl. 

Maybe it is the human pieces of him, the lingering fragments of his father’s treacherous family, but he feels his heart break at the sight of her complacent gaze, surrounded by the hard truth of her condition.

And he had glamoured her. 

Forced his way into her space.

He sighs a shuddering breath. Faeries don’t often feel guilt, they’re devoid of these dumb human emotions, but he does. He feels it so often, and he hates it. 

And he feels guilty now. Very much so. Like an arrow coated in poison had been shot into his stomach, spreading its toxin through his system. To his heart. His mind. But she knew something about Han, she had his number, and he needs to find him. Desperately.

If Kylo were a true faerie, he wouldn’t care. He’d be amused by her predicament and get on with his task, making her find his father.

But he doesn’t do that.

He does something stupid instead.

With a soft stroke of his thumb across her cheek, her eyes gazing at him with the most reverent expression,  _ he undoes the glamour. _

It turns out to be a mistake.

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


From second-hand accounts, Kylo has a decent idea of how it feels to be undone from a glamour. Most humans describe it as waking from a dreamless sleep, but not quite. She will be confused because she will recall it as if she wanted to take him there, her mind clouded by a warm fuzzy feeling, of good times and pleasant memories. However, her body will be tired, like she had walked a marathon, or climbed Everest. While he can numb thoughts, her body will fight it with all its might. 

That is usually countered by glamouring them into forgetting. 

Kylo’s mistake is that he doesn’t. 

His thumb falls from her face and he watches her blink rapidly against the darkness, trying to make sense of his form. Probably taking in his dark curly hair, the protruding mouth, the big nose, the dark extravagant outfit, the...horns on top of his head.

And honestly, the only reason why she doesn’t slash his face the moment her mind returns to her can only be due to the extreme exhaustion from his glamour.  _ The only reason.  _

But even with all the confusion and fogginess she experiences, he sees clearly the moment she recognizes him. 

Because instead of attacking, she stumbles back -

\- And falls to the ground with a thud, her mouth gaping at seeing the target of her next week’s meal budget tower over her with an expression of genuine amusement at her reaction.

_ It is kind of funny. _

“I - What - I don’t understand - “ she manages to blurt. “Why - why did I …”

“Call Han.” He interrupts, and the girl snaps her mouth shut firmly, and instead of replying, she chooses to glare at him, letting him feel her contempt. 

He steps closer. “You have his number. I know you didn’t lie. Call him.”

“No.”

“Yes. You will,” Kylo snorts and sits down on his heels, so he’s eye-level with her. His hand moves the cape aside to show her the large dagger resting at his hip, his face impassive. “I do not want to hurt you - but I will get what I need. You can either consent or I will have to take it from you.”

“Did you...did you make me take you here? I don’t understand why I-”

“I Did. And I can do it again.” Her eyes are so very dark, almost magical. “Call Han.”

She doesn’t move or reply for a while, but he sees how her thoughts churn, considering the events unfolding before her, and he should have known that the girl would be an opportunist. Because one needs to be if you are going to survive on the streets, mugging people for a living. Staying in a place like... _ this _ .

With an incomprehensible look, she gets back on her knees, and carefully scoots to the trunk next to her bed, never taking her eyes off him as she rummages through its contents. 

It's strange, the way they stare at each other. Kylo is not sure he’s ever held eye contact with anyone, faerie or human, for that long and with such intensity. And while the circumstances under which it is happening are anything but, a sweetness starts to bloom in his chest. Something unholy, human -

“On one condition -” she announces, holding a piece of paper in her hand.

“No conditions,” Kylo scoffs -

“ - You will buy me a week’s worth of groceries.”

“No.”

“Those are my terms. Your leaves were worthless. And I need food.”

Kylo wants to smile, wants to laugh - at the sheer surprise of her nature. That she’s such a ...brat. Negotiating with someone who could so easily kill her, subdue her, with little to no fear in her eyes.

So determined. 

“We’ll see,” he counters, knowing that bargains and promises work differently for him, for his people. Humans can lie and break agreements, whereas Faeries can do neither. 

“No. I need you to promise me. Promise me you’ll take me to the store and buy me whatever I want.” 

His mother, a pure-blooded faerie, always told him that he feels too much, notices too many things. His empathy for the downtrodden and weak would make him struggle in the High King’s court. And she was right, because he did. He had been teased, bullied, and ridiculed until he learned how to turn his compassion into anger, his yearning for belonging into self-sufficiency. 

Kylo needed no one.

And no one needed him.

But, the girl...her wrists, they are so thin. Her cheekbones so protruding. And ...and…

“If you call Han -” he says with sighing finality in his voice, “then I will buy you everything you want from the local grocery store this _ one time.” _

And with that, he feels the magic bind him.

Not that he minds.

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


The phone clicks and an old rusty voice answers the phone. The display reads 1:23 AM.

_ “Hello?” _

Kylo sits on the couch, watching her as she sits cross-legged on her old mattress, clutching the phone tightly in her palm, putting it on speaker. She gives him wary glances before she replies.

“Han - It’s Rey.”

A pause.

_ “Rey?” _

“Yeah.”

Another pause. 

_ “It’s very late.” _

“I know.” She glances at Kylo once more.

_ “Are you okay?” _

The girl, Rey, shifts and draws her legs closer to her chest.

“Yo- you once said I could call this number if I ever needed help.”

The line hisses. Kylo frowns, is he suspicious? His father appears to take a lot of pauses.

_ “Kid. Are you still with that...slimeball, Unkar Plutt?” _

She shakes her head, muttering a low ‘no’. “Not any longer.”

_ “Where are you now?” _

“I’m safe.” Kylo doesn’t blame her for the very odd, suspicious glance she sends him. 

“ _ Rey _ ,” he hears his father say in a firm manner,  _ “Do you need me to come pick you up?” _

That’s it! Kylo leans forward, giving Rey a firm look, urging her to accept, but he knows he can’t say anything, can’t reveal himself. He needs Han to not know. She hesitates, a panicky expression on her face.

Were she a faerie, she would be bound to uphold her end of the deal, to make his father come to him. 

But humans lie.

“No. No. It’s... it's fine. I’ll - where are you?”

_ “Rey -” _

“I- Han -”

_ “Are you alone?” _

“Yes,” she whispers. Her eyes close as if she’s in pain. Regretful.

A moment passes, and he hears the click of the phone being passed around, scratching as his father moves around wherever he is. Rey stares at him, her haunting eyes burning with fury, and probably regret from giving in to his requests. Not that she had much of a chance. Her eyes briefly dart to his knife, before returning to the phone.

There’s a tightness in Kylo’s chest.

_ “I’m coming for you. Wait for me, _ ” Han suddenly says and the girl seems genuinely surprised by the answer, before nodding. Muttering a small ‘yes’. And then the phone clicks, his father hanging up.

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


There are not a lot of things open at 2 am in the morning, even Kylo knows that, but Rey insists that they go, right now, and that’s how he finds himself standing in a partially run-down corner store, stuffed to the brim with processed foods, alcohol, and bare essentials. The blue neon flickers and the light it casts can only be described as eerie, something artificial, something so...not faerie. Kylo turns over a bright red package of  _ Lucky Charms  _ and frowns. He’s unsure if this would even provide the girl sufficient nutrients, yet she seems insistent on stuffing several versions of this into a cart and making him push it, trailing along.

This was not how Kylo had envisioned his evening. His life is even. Watching her tread aisle upon aisle in her simple clothes, her brown jacket with fur lining. Hair pulled into a lazy half-up half-down do. She looks wasted, tired, and genuinely homeless. 

And something forbidden, something his people would ridicule him for, a traitorous fantasy, springs forth in his chest. 

That he could live in the human world, go to grocery stores, have a simple life, where he eats sugar-coated breakfast items without care, where a promise to a person could easily be broken. No magic, but calm - and somehow, he found that the girl ahead of him, appeared in all of them. Cheeks fuller, chest red from frostbite, and maybe even a smile…

“Do you want something?” she suddenly asks, no trace of a smile on her face, and hardly any kindness, but perhaps out of some moral obligation or maybe even empathy she asks him anyway.

Kylo shakes his head, used to going without food for long, knowing how to steal or trick his way to nourishment, but the fact that she even asks does little to remove her from his growing reverie. He feels lips tug. “No. No need.”

Rey nods, suspicious, and moves along, but it doesn’t take long for the questions to come.

“Why isn’t anyone looking at you funny? With that outfit? Those...horns?” she asks, without peering away from a shelf with cans.

“Humans see what they  _ want _ to see. And the rest can be hidden, masked.”

“You talk about humans as if you aren’t one?”

Kylo scoffs surprised, “You wore an enchanted necklace and you dare to pretend as if you do not know what it’s for.”

This time she turns around to look at him, brow furrowing. “I told you. I was given the necklace, told to never take it off. To never enter a bargain. I promised that to Han. He never explained what for.”

“That was smart of him,” Kylo sarcastically admits, watching her throw the last item into the basket before dragging them to the counter, never answering her question, aiming for misdirection and distraction rather than an answer. Her eyes are those of a hawk, ever present on his form, stalking his every move as if he were doing some simple human card trick. It amuses him. 

The leaves from his pocket scratch against the counter and with not even a second glance the cashier stuffs them into the register and brings them a bottle of brandy from the shelf. Never once does her scrutinizing gaze leave him, but it is only once they are outside that she finally opens her mouth.

“Why didn’t he see the leaves? Why did he think they were money?”

“Because I told him so,” he says with a casual tone, hoisting the plastic bags in his hands, already moving ahead, back to her humble abode (despite not having promised anything but buying her food.)

“But  _ how _ ?”

“Because it is in my power to do so.”

Her feet scurry along the pavement, "That’s not an answer!”

“It is.”

She’s angry, he hears it in the way she growls her next sentence. “You did that to me too, right? Didn’t you? You told me to take you to my house - against my will?”

Kylo tenses his jaw, squaring his shoulders, but he is leaving tonight, after Han gets here, so what’s the harm. “Yes.”

“Then you owe me an honest answer! Not this… deception.”

“I will when you ask me an honest question.” His voice is bored, he feels bored.

“What are you?!” He hears her shout as he crawls easily over the fence, putting the groceries down -

And turns to give her his hand, and with no fanfare in his voice announces, “To some we are your nightmare, others a blessing. And both are true.” She stares at him frozen on the fence, a look of genuine confusion, of frustration, his answer definitely lacking. 

With a snort, she jumps to the ground.

Not taking his hand.

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


She stares at him again, well, she hasn’t really stopped, from the mattress as she consumes some off-brand variety of sour cream and onion chips. Her eyes are red-rimmed, frustration is still evident in her posture but now also… _ something else. _

The brandy in his mouth is sour, bordering on going bad, but it helps him dull the headache forming below his horns, from being aware and alert.

While he technically holds the power here and he knows he technically has her captive in her own house, he does not doubt that she’ll kill him in his sleep should she desire to do so. Her knife is still hidden in the boot that lies directly next to her. She’s wearing socks with kittens on them. 

Which is kind of ...cute.

“How do you know Han?” Rey suddenly says.

“We go way back.”

“Yeah. But how?”

He sips from the brandy, reciprocating her evaluating gaze. 

“What will you give me in exchange for the truth?”

A surprised gasp escapes her mouth, only to be replaced by a mocking laugh, “In exchange!? You are literally holding me here. Captive.”

“I bought you food in exchange for that.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“So I owe you?”

“Yes!”

He sips once more, moving his jaw in contemplation. “A truth for a truth,” he suggests.

Her head shakes in disbelief, muttering curses below her breath, before she grabs the brandy and takes a big gulp, throwing a hissing  _ ‘fine’ _ at him.

“How old are you?” he tries, easing into the conversation.

“20...I think.” She rubs the back of her hand against her mouth. “Who is Han to you?”

A pause, but he knows by magic he is bound by every agreement he makes, even a resentful ‘fine’ will do, so there is only one sentence that will emerge from his lips. “He is my father.”

Her eyes widen, a lot. “You’re...his son? I thought you - you lived somewhere far away?”

“A truth for a truth,” he reminds her. “Where are your parents?”

Rey grimaces, but with a firm voice says, “They’ll be back. Now tell me about Han. He’s your  _ father _ ?!” Her finger rubs the rim of the brandy bottle, a bitter expression crossing her face.

Kylo swirls the brown liquid in his coffee mug with a chipped handle and a faded picture of a unicorn on the side. “That’s not a truth.”

“I answered your question!”

“You didn’t. I asked where they were. You didn’t reply.”

“It’s none of your business!”

“No? Well. Then I cannot answer yours either.”

She growls, feral, like an animal and takes another gulp, “I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know where they are!”

Kylo nods, ignoring the tightness in his chest at her confession, and resumes her previous question. “And Yes. I live far away, but also closer. Both are true.”

“You are really great at giving the vaguest answers possible. I don’t accept that. I want the true answer.” There’s a boldness to her now after having been forced to part with an uncomfortable truth of her own, and Kylo feels almost...charmed.

“It’s a world between worlds. It can only be accessed by those who can go there - but if I had to pinpoint a place ...the willowbridge crosses into it.”

She looks confused, her nose wrinkling - which is sort of cute, and blurts, “The willowbridge? Like the willowbridge 3 miles from here? What the -”

Kylo nods.

“Wow.”

Kylo sips once more. “Why do you live in a place like this?” he asks, eyeing the mess around them. She frowns at him, mocking his question with a ‘yeah yeah’ but relents.

“Fine. A truth for a truth.” She raises the bottle in a  _ cheers  _ motion and begins, “I have been in foster care for as long as I can remember. The last guy I stayed with, Unkar Plutt - “ a breath, “was not the  _ best _ guy.”

“Did he hurt you?” Kylo hears himself ask, his grip tightening on his cup.

Rey glances at him, a cautious expression on her face. And her lack of reply is all Kylo needs to understand.

It ignites a rage deep in his belly.

“Are you married?”

He blinks. “Married?”

“Do your…” she throws her hands around in an odd gesture“ - not get married?”

“Some do. It’s different than your kind of marriage. But no. I’m not.”

She nods, accepting his answers and taking a sip once more. Kylo frowns, finding that the more he knows about her, the more he’s confused about who she truly is. And what marriage has to do with any of it.

“Are you alone?” he then prods, curious about the way she lives, about her house, how she earns her money.

“That’s not a nice question to ask,” she mumbles. He has clearly hit something, a vulnerability, a wound that never healed. But he doesn’t let it slide, instead he watches her, waiting patiently. The clock reads 4 am. 

She sighs frustratedly and pulls her legs to her chest. “It feels like that. But no. I'm not alone. There are people, I have friends - “ a sniff, “ _ but _ \- I belong to no one.” She blinks her eyes free of tears, and before he can say any words of comfort, she turns back to him.

“Are you alone?”

Kylo tenses his jaw, drumming his thumb on the cup’s handle. “No.”

“Oh,” she replies, sounding almost...disappointed.

“But I  _ feel _ alone. Most of the time.” He turns to stare at the ceiling, with its loose wires. “My kind is not...well-liked.”

“What are you, really?”

He shrugs. “A bit of both, my mother is made of magic, my father - as you have met - is anything but. The magic is strong in people like me, but we are not -” his voice breaks.

“You are not one of them,” she concludes, and her eyes are so clear, so very clear. Kylo nods and quickly changes the subject.

“Are  _ you _ married?” to which she laughs, almost like the question surprises her and wiggles her fingers for him to see their bareness. “I am not really marriage material, cosplayer.”

And he finds that to be the biggest lie, the worst, because she is. With her beautiful smile, tough persona, and wonderful laugh, of course she’d be a trophy to have. A blessing. But then again, she’s like a white stark. Sacred, free-roaming, never supposed to be tied down. Admired for how incredible they are. 

He thinks so at least.

But he doesn’t say it and just smiles a surrendering smile, never agreeing, but never disagreeing with her conclusion.

And then she stands, proud like a tigress, and walk towards him. “What do they call creatures like you?”

He sips. “Elves, ghosts, demons - but mostly faeries.” She nods, moving closer, “And those...horns, are they real?”

“They are.”

“Can I...touch them?” She stands very close to him, far too close and really, he should push her away, leave of the apartment, but he doesn’t. No. Because he’s a fool, like his father, and with a heavy heart and a lump in his throat -

He nods.

The couch dips as she kneels down next to him, her mouth tight and eyes focused. And there’s a light dusting of red on her cheeks he thinks, but he has no time to reflect on it, because her hands move and then she’s touching his horns. Sliding her hands around the rough grain, almost like she’s...caressing them. A soft giggle escapes her throat, “Does that mean you grant wishes?”

He groans, rolling his eyes, but then, much to his surprise, she moves her hands from his horns, down through his hair, feeling the strands of black, rubbing them between her fingers with an enchanted look in her brown bright eyes. But he knows he didn’t glamour her, he hasn’t spoken any spells. A sigh escapes his throat and his hand holding the cup turns whites from the sheer force with which he clutches it. 

She simply watches him, he realizes: taking in his form, probably debating what part of him is human, what part of him is faerie. He feels it in the way her fingers trail from his hair to his pointed eyes, running her thumbs along the soft edges of his ears.

Kylo shivers.

“Are you okay? Cold?” she whispers.

“No. No. It’s fine -” he tries to say, but now her hands have gone to his face, running along his white skin, his cheek bones, taking in his eyes, then his nose and -

She leans back, placing her hands tight in her lap, before nodding, almost to herself. “You are very beautiful. Are all of your kind this beautiful?”

Kylo blushes. Hard, like a burst of flames lighting his skin on fire. Because, well, yes of course they are beautiful, and the purer they are the more enchanting they appear, more magical, more...right. Kylo is half, as he has reminded himself often this evening, but he’s not beautiful, far from it. Tarnished by his humanity, his moles, long nose, and large body. No, Kylo is not beautiful, he has known this truth all his life -

But she thinks - she just told him - could she ?

“Yes. Yes they are,” Kylo musters.

She nods again, and they just sit there, letting a moment pass by in silence, before she then says, “Do you -” she gestures with a finger at the buttons of his  coat,  “- look different under there too?”

He blinks, and then it feels like he dies. Right there. On a couch in a shitty dilapidated apartment in the human world. And if he thought himself incapable of blushing even more, the new heat in his whole face says otherwise.

”Some do. Tails, different skin,” he replies, his voice hoarse, as he watches her inspect him from her spot on the sofa. “I don’t think I'm that much different from you.”

  
“Can I-” she swallows, he notices it, “-see?”

There’s a shift here, Kylo knows, and while he is not unfamiliar with sex, he’s totally out of his depth as to what that would look like with a human woman. How to interpret her signs, her words. Rey could be genuinely curious - he’s a monster to her, a subject to be evaluated and tested.

Not a man.

He blushes anyway and wills his blood to not rush below, to ignore these feelings, to shove them away.

He nods again and rasps, “Okay.”

Such a human response of him. 

There’s no hesitance in the way her fingers move, tracing over his golden buttons as she slowly undoes them, one at a time. Kylo doesn’t want to close his eyes, doesn’t want to appear enthralled or into this. He has already glamoured her once, stripping her of her agency, which is crime enough in itself.

But then her fingers sprawl over the muscles on his chest, the cold autumn wind blowing kisses onto his skin, biting him. 

Kylo gasps.

“Cold?”

No. No. Far from it. The opposite. But he doesn’t tell her that and just shakes his head. Rey gives him an odd look, before she traces fingers over his collarbone, and then pulls his coat down completely past his shoulders, unfastening his cape (which she makes some half joke about) and Kylo just...lets it happen.

But it’s a lot. Her hands are warm like sand on the beach as she touches him everywhere, and his blush slowly creeps down from his face to his chest. She comments on his lack of hair, which he supposes is very faerie-like, although he can’t claim to know. Then she inspects his fingers, his hands, holding them gently in hers as she turns them. His painted black nails are probably odd to her. “It’s in fashion,” he apologizes (for what he doesn’t know.).

Her eyes go back to his and her cheeks are now blooming like a red plum field in spring, her jaw tight. “Fashion?”

“They expect you to dress the part for my position.” He mutters, embarrassed.

She smiles and cheekily asks, “Are you a prince?”

“No. My mother is a princess though.”

“And your father is a scoundrel -” she laughs as if all of it is a joke to her. “Who knew that Han had the charm to rein in a princess.”

Kylo snorts, agreeing, “One of the great mysteries of the court to this day.”

Rey snickers, her hands moving back across his chest, further down and down and -

_ Oh this is sweet torture indeed.  _

And then she stops.

Her fingers rest at the top of his pants, where the fastening lies. She licks her lips, staring at it, before rasping, “Is it...any different down there?”

Kylo has been told he’s an intelligent faerie, a good soldier, smart and capable, but he has also been called oblivious, an idiot like his father. His skills in persuasion and passion usually just come down to where to place his fist to force out the truth. Words, convoluted and traitorous, are not his style, his forte. 

So why in the name of the High King he decides to say what he says next is beyond his understanding. 

But he says it anyway.

“You will have to see for yourself.”

Her fingers still and her shoulders tense, her eyes are not looking at him, but somewhere next to him. “I...I’m sorry,” she whispers, removing her hands from his body. And that’s when he notices their position, him half lying down, back resting on the armrest, her knees between his thighs. And now she’s moving away. “That isn’t what this is,” she mutters again, rising fully from the couch and walking away. A flush still paints her cheek.

Ben sighs, because she’s right of course. Of course she’s right. He made this into something it wasn’t. She wanted to see what kind of monster he was and he turned it into ...this. “Yes,” he simply replies and starts to put on his coat, buttoning it from bottom to top, never sparing her a glance. Afraid what he might find.

Until her hands, warm and shaking, cup his cheeks and she tilts his face up to look at her as she stands tall next to him. He’s completely at her mercy. Her lips are tight, her eyes shimmering. “Do - is this something your people...do?”

Kylo frowns, “Do what?”

“Kiss, touch - sex”

Oh. 

He swallows, “Yes. We do.” Her thumb brushes against his cheek bones over and over again, but her gaze is on his lips, her mouth is slightly parted as if in a trance, before muttering, “With - people like... _ me _ too?”

“Yes,” he says with more confidence, “yes, we do.”

“I haven’t done this...a lot. I’m not good at it.”

“Okay,” he chokes out, feeling overwhelmed and confused, his heart stuttering in his chest, his belly filled with an all-consuming sweetness. 

Rey gasps a laugh, muttering to herself, “This is - this is a mistake. Yo- you literally kidnapped me.”

“Yes,” Kylo confirms. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull her close or push her away, silently waiting for her next move. Her thumbs move from his cheeks, rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin of his pink lips. He parts his lips in response, the room no longer cold in the autumn night, but warm - hot even.

“You could hurt me. I saw your knife.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to hurt me?” 

“No.”

“Okay - okay,” she mutters to herself, and she seems to be panicking, her breath becoming more shallow. And he knows it is his weakness, his father’s heart that makes him reach out and place his hands on her waist in a gentle comforting manner.

And he speaks her name, “Rey?”

At which she kisses him.

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


And oh she kisses him. Like a wild horse at the beginning of spring, excited, furious - nothing like he’d expect a human to kiss. But she doesn’t kiss like a faerie either, there's no elegance to her movements, nothing buzzing or magical. She bites, pulls and he can barely keep up. Letting her hands throw open his coat again to let her fingers roam once more, and this time there’s a confidence to it, how she rubs against his skin, bites his cheeks, nips at his pointed ears, and pulls on his horns.

“Tell me your name,” she commands, as he sucks on her collarbone, bruising her. 

“Ben,” he whispers again and again into her skin, like a secret only for her. His human name, not the name of a warrior, a man promised to the High King’s service.  _ Kylo Ren _ doesn’t belong here anymore, this is not for him, not this tenderness and sweetness.

No, this is a place for Ben, the lost son of Han Solo. The bastard son of Leia Organa.

She chants his name, as he removes her jacket, nuzzling at the dirty white fur as he kisses her shoulder, and it almost feels like belonging. And were he not wiser, he would almost argue that there was something divine and otherworldly about this evening, that it was inevitable that they would end up in bed together. 

“Ben,” she whispers, “I like it. It’s a good name.” 

“Better make you shout it then,” he half-growls, half-chuckles into her breasts and forcefully lifts her off the couch into his arms, towards the not-so-insect-infested mattress. She squeaks like it’s a surprise, but a good one, and there’s a smile on her face when he lays her down with a lack of gentleness, her black shirt rising up her stomach. A fading tan still evident. 

He has to touch, to feel the abs below. How warm it is. And with a calloused hand, he runs his fingers up her ribs, his thumb grazing the outline of her breasts, and she makes this cute little gasp that goes straight from his heart to his cock, stirring beneath the tight black leather of his trousers. 

And he’s not sure how long they just spend exploring their bodies, with kisses and tracing fingers, but at some point the room is no longer cast in darkness, but a slowly intensifying blue, and he’s pulling down her pants, discarding them somewhere in the back of the room. And she’s staring at him like he’s - 

“You look…” he breathes, “...so-”. But she pulls him down for a kiss, before he is even allowed to say anything, to let his dumb human heart speak deceitful things. Her hand fumbles with his pants, freeing his throbbing cock with the warmest grip and brings it to her entrance without even -

“Rey -” Ben tries to interrupt, grasping her wrist, “- not yet.”

“Now, please,” she heaves against his cheek. “I want to -”

“I know. I know,” and he almost has to  _ muscle _ himself away from her embrace, but when he starts to trail kisses down her breasts, her stomach, to the bones at her hips, to the inner thighs that trembles below his lips, she falls silent, watching him.

Until he licks  _ her _ with a long hard stroke.

“Ah!” she cries,  _ grasping his horn, _ letting her head fall back on the pillow.

Ben rubs his cock into the mattress, eager to be touched, but he needs to hear her noises, needs more, and it is with a burning vigor that he works her. He wants to be gentle, tries to be, but the way she tastes, move, sighs, her warmth,  _ so wet, so wet, for him _ -

She gasps, when he slides his finger, then one more, inside, rubbing against her, while lapping at her. It’s animalistic, rough, so unlike anything he’s ever done or had done to him.

It ...it feels like something genuine. Something true to his nature. Like this is what it was always supposed to feel like. This heady drug of smells, sounds, and sensations that are neither pretty nor off-putting. It doesn’t smell like roses or feel stiff like marble, it feels...

Real.

“Ben!” she shouts, clenching on his fingers as she stiffens her back, rubbing against his face, his nose, making them glisten with her. 

It’s a miracle he doesn’t expire on the spot.

Especially considering how the rising sun has painted her face in the loveliest shade of purple, her eyes shiny and bright, specks of gold glistening. And that’s all he sees when he enters her, stretching her around him. How she looks like an angel, like the most beautiful faerie, even more divine than the Queen and her entire group of maidens.

And then, when he bottoms out, feeling her take his cock to the hilt, how tight she is around him, how perfect, his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. Because this is going to be so hard, and not just because its been a while but because she’s - “God. Is it...ah...you’re so,” she growls as she moves against him, wiggling her hips and -

Yeah. There’s not a lot of thoughts after that.

But there are a lot of sounds, Ben’s grunting as he slides in and out, the wet slap of his pounding, her sighs and moans even with the punishing pace he sets. The smacking of their lips, and the friction between his sweaty chest and hers as he buries her, takes her. Her hand grasps his horn hard as she cries.

And at some point she flips him (not that it’s hard with how amiable he is) and rides him. Tits bouncing below her shirt, which he quickly removes so he can see, touch, pinch. And when he needs to take control, needs her more, he grabs her by the waist, turns her so she’s on all fours and takes her from behind, like the animal he is. The animals they both are. 

Like the human he is.

“I need you to-” she groans, bringing her fingers to rub at her clit, “-cum outside.”

He bites her neck, nodding in confirmation. And when her breath shudders, as she cums on his cock, he pulls out, coating her beautiful back with hot streaks of semen. The sunrise makes her appear golden, with a string of pearly silver, a treasure found here in the early morning. His stomach fills with butterflies, and a hilarious thought enters his mind.

_ I would leave Faerie for this. _

_ For her. _

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  
  


They kiss a little more after that, and she opens her sleeping bag so that it covers them both. There are not a lot of words said, nothing needs to be said - and the things that do will ruin them, ruin this moment.

Her eyes are downcast, sleepy against his form, as she runs her arms around him in a loving embrace. It does nothing good for Ben’s mind. 

“Han-” she begins, nuzzling her nose at his jaw “- once said, that I shouldn’t promise anyone anything. Shouldn’t enter bargains. Why is that?”

Ben sighs, her words breaking his reverie: of how she’d pack her stuff, go with him and they’d take a  ragwort pony to faerie. He’d sew her a new necklace of rowan berries, teach her to always carry salt. Have her live in his mansion, take her dancing at the balls. Make her cum on their dining table. Avenge her, ruin that Unkar Plutt. 

“Faeries can’t lie.” He says, running a finger over her bruised mouth, “and we cannot break promises. Humans can. But if you enter a bargain with a faerie, you’ll be obligated to fulfill it, the faerie will be granted the magic to make it so.” He kisses her once more, “We cannot break a promise either. I promised you I’d buy your food, and I had to.” 

She sighs and kisses him, before pulling back slightly. Her eyes watch him carefully. Her breasts are tight against his chest as she obviously ponders something important. “Tell me something,” she asks.

“Depends.”

“Han once said - that he knows his son will one day come for him. That you’ll kill him.” The bitterness is clear in her voice.

Ben doesn’t reply, moving his jaw instead to keep the words in. 

“I need to know. Did he say that because you promised to someone you’d do it - or is it because you want to do it?”

Such a smart little human. So cunning. So beautiful. “It was promised. To the High King of Faerie.”

She nods, and instead of judging him, spitting at him, she raises herself on her elbows, looking down at him. “Do you hate your father?”

Hate? No. He never has. He didn’t as a child. Had he been resentful when he left faerie and his mother behind to chase after whatever dull human adventure he’d rather follow? Yes. Resentment. Not hate. “I don’t hate my father.”

She nods once more, “Do you want to kill your father?”

Maybe he had, once? He’s not sure. He hasn’t given it much thought, because what is the point? He has to do it. He has promised it. It’s that or he’ll be banished, killed even. Why entertain the thought at all?

“I don’t.”

“Were there...any conditions to your promise?” Ben is baffled, how does she appear to know nothing about faerie, but so easily attune to their rules, their ways. He almost wants to bed her once more for the simple reason that she impresses him, that she’s clever and dirty and - “No. Just that I’d kill him.”

“Ben. I want you to promise me something,” she says with a grave seriousness. 

“Depends.” His voice is cautious at her tone.

She pushes him down and straddles his stomach and he has to fight every instinct to not stare at her chest, to nip at the skin, with how intent she appears on luring a magical binding out of him.

“I want you to promise me to never hurt anything _ that’s mine, _ for as long as  _ I live. _ ” 

Oh. She’s cunning, so so cunning, he thinks with a cruel, wicked smile on his lips.

  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


He fucks her once more on the bed, after a few hours of sleep, coaxing an orgasm from her by having her straddle his face, and another as she lies on her stomach, letting him pound her into the mattress, biting her skin, letting her cries be muffled by the pillow.

Then she corners him at an unbroken window, wearing nothing but her underwear, the autumn sun warm on their skin, and he fucks her hard against the cool glass, while he kisses her gently. 

They dress, still kissing, and she allows him to do her hair, braiding it in a style of his mother’s (but he doesn’t tell her that). He imagines taking her to the fields of  Insmoor , picking beautiful flowers and fastening them in her braids, letting the magic of it all pale next to her loveliness. She’ll look nice. Smiling amongst blues, white, reds and yellows. His heart flutters at the thought.

He helps her carry her duffel bag down the fire escape and kisses her once more before they part ways, when the honk of a van from the side road reverberates through the back alley.

Han.

She presses a hand against his chest, and it hurts him, the touch a physical reminder that they’ll have to part ways, that his fantasies are impossible. She may have stopped him from killing Han, her promise binding him, but letting her go feels like more of a loss than that. Like he’s breaking a thousand magical spells. So before she can say anything, he touches his forehead against hers, whispering apologies.  _ I didn’t want to glamour you. Forgive me. I’m sorry.  _

And she shakes her head, nuzzling her nose against his and then she makes a promise.

  
  
  


🍂🍂🍂

  
  


“I’ll come back to save you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
